DANIEL WAVED HIS SWORD
There was once a gentleman who had a labourer who never went about in company. His fellow-servants did all they could to make him come with them, and now and then enticed him into the tavern, but they could never get him to stay there long, and he always wandered away by himself through the woods. One day he went strolling about in the forest as usual, far from any village and the haunts of men, when he came upon a huge Serpent, which wriggled straight up to him and said, “I am going to eat thee on the spot!” But the labourer, who was used to the loneliness of the forest, replied, “Very well, eat me if thou hast a mind to!”––Then the Serpent said, “Nay! I will not eat thee; only do what I tell thee!” And the Serpent began to tell the man what he had to do. “Turn back home,” it said, “and thou wilt find thy master angry because thou hast tarried so long, and there was none to work for him, so that his corn has to remain standing in the field. Then he will send thee to bring in his sheaves, and I’ll help thee. Load the wagon well, but don’t take quite all the sheaves from the field. Leave one little sheaf behind; more than that thou needst not leave, but that thou must leave. Then beg thy master to let thee have this little sheaf by way of wages. Take no money from him, but that one little sheaf only. Then, when thy master has given thee this sheaf, burn it, and a fair lady will leap out of it; take her to wife!”
The labourer obeyed, and went and worked for his master as the Serpent had told him. He went out into the field to bring home his master’s corn, and marvellously he managed it. He did all the carrying himself, and loaded the wagon so heavily that it creaked beneath its burden. Then when he had brought home all his master’s corn, he begged that he might have the remaining little sheaf for himself. He refused to be rewarded for his smart labour, he would take no money; he wanted nothing for himself, he said, but the little sheaf he had left in the field. So his master let him have the sheaf. Then he went out by himself into the field, burnt the sheaf, just as the Serpent had told him, and immediately a lovely lady leapt out of it. The labourer forthwith took and married her; and now he began to look out for a place to build him a hut upon. His master gave him a place where he might build his hut, and his wife helped him so much with the building of it that it seemed to him as if he himself never laid a hand to it. His hut grew up as quick as thought, and it contained everything that they wanted. The man could not understand it; he could only walk about and wonder at it. Wherever he looked there was everything quite spick and span and ready for use: none in the whole village had a better house than he.
And so he might have lived in all peace and prosperity to the end of his days had not his desires outstripped his deserts. He had three fields of standing corn, and when he came home one day his labourers said to him, “Thy corn is not gathered in yet, though it is standing all ripe on its stalks.” Now the season was getting on, and for all the care and labour of his wife, the corn was still standing in the field. “Why, what’s the meaning of this?” thought he. Then in his anger he cried, “I see how it is. Once a serpent, always a serpent!” He was quite beside himself all the way home, and was very wrath with his wife because of the corn.
When he got home he went straight to his chamber to lie down on his pillow. There was no sign of his wife, but a huge serpent was just coiling itself round and round and settling down in the middle of the pillow. Then he called to mind how, once, his wife had said to him, “Beware, for Heaven’s sake, of ever calling me a serpent. I will not suffer thee to call me by that name, and if thou dost thou shalt lose thy wife.” He called this to mind now, but it was already too late; what he had said could not be unsaid. Then he reflected what a good wife he had had, and how she herself had sought him out, and how she had waited upon him continually and done him boundless good, and yet he had not been able to refrain his tongue, so that now, maybe, he would be without a wife for the rest of his days. His heart grew heavy within him as he thought of all this, and he wept bitterly at the harm he had done to himself. Then the Serpent said to him, “Weep no more. What is to be, must be. Is it thy standing corn thou art grieved about? Go up to thy barn, and there thou wilt find all thy corn lying, to the very last little grain. Have I not brought it all home and threshed it for thee, and set everything in order? And now I must depart to the place where thou didst first find me.” Then she crept off, and the man followed her, weeping and mourning all the time as for one already dead. When they reached the forest she stopped and coiled herself round and round beneath a hazel-nut bush. Then she said to the man, “Now kiss me once, but see to it that I do not bite thee!”––Then he kissed her once, and she wound herself round a branch of a tree and asked him, “What dost thou feel within thee?”––He answered, “At the moment when I kissed thee it seemed to me as if I knew everything that was going on in the world!”––Then she said to him again, “Kiss me a second time!”––“And what dost thou feel now?” she asked when he had kissed her again.––“Now,” said he, “I understand all languages which are spoken among men.”––Then she said to him, “And now kiss me a third time, but this will be for the last time.” Then he kissed the Serpent for the last time, and she said to him, “What dost thou feel now?”––“Now,” said he, “I know all that is going on under the earth.”––“Go now,” said she, “to the Tsar, and he will give thee his daughter for the knowledge thou hast. But pray to God for poor me, for now I must be and remain a serpent for ever.” And with that the Serpent uncoiled herself and disappeared among the bushes, but the man went away and wedded the Tsar’s daughter.
There was once upon a time a youth called Unlucky Dan. Wherever he went, and whatever he did, and with whomsoever he served, nothing came of it: all his labour was like spilt water, he got no good from it. One day he took service with a new master. “I’ll serve thee a whole year,” said he, “for a piece of sown wheat-land.” His master agreed, and he entered into his service, and at the same time he sowed his piece of wheat-land. His wheat shot up rapidly. When his master’s wheat was in the stalk, his was already in the ear, and when his master’s wheat was in the ear, his own wheat was already ripe. “I’ll reap it to-morrow,” thought he. The same night a cloud arose, the hail poured down, and destroyed his wheat altogether. Daniel fell a-weeping. “I’ll go serve another master,” he cried, “perhaps God will then prosper me!” So he went to another master. “I’ll serve thee for a whole year,” said he, “if thou wilt give me that wild colt.” So he stopped and served him, and by the end of the year he trained the wild colt so well that he made a carriage-horse out of it. “Oh-ho!” thought he, “I shall take away something with me this time!” The same night the wolves made an inroad upon the stables and tore the horse to pieces. Daniel fell a-weeping. “I’ll go to another master,” said he, “perhaps I shall be luckier there.” So he went to a third master, and on this master’s tomb lay a large stone. Whence it came none knew, and it was so heavy that none could move it, though they tried for ages. “I’ll serve thee a year,” said he, “for that stone.” The master agreed, and he entered his service. Then a change came over the stone, and divers flowers began to grow upon it. On one side they were red, on the second side silver, and on the third side golden. “Oh-ho,” thought Daniel, “that stone, at any rate, will soon be mine. Nobody can move it.” But the next morning a thunderbolt descended and struck the stone, and shivered it to atoms. Then Daniel fell a-weeping, and lamented that God had given him nothing, though he had served for so many years. But the people said to him, “Listen now! thou that art so unlucky, why dost thou not go to the Tsar? He is the father of us all, and will therefore certainly care for thee!” So he listened to them and went, and the Tsar gave him a place at his court. One day the Tsar said to him, “I marvel that thou art so unlucky, for do whatsoever thou wilt, thou art none the better for it. I would fain requite thee for all thy labours.” Then he took and filled three barrels, the first with gold, and the second with coal, and the third with sand, and said to Daniel, “Look now! if thou dost pitch upon that which is filled with gold, thou shalt be a Tsar; if thou dost choose the one that is filled with coal, thou shalt be a blacksmith; but if thou dost pick out the one that is full of sand, why then thou art indeed hopelessly unlucky, and out of my tsardom thou must go straightway, yet I will give thee a horse and armour to take along with thee.” So Daniel was brought to the place where were the three barrels, and went about them and felt and felt them one after the other. “This one is full of gold!” said he. They broke it open and it was full of sand. “Well,” said the Tsar, “I see that thou art hopelessly unlucky. Depart from my tsardom, for I have no need at all of such as thou.” Then he gave him a charger and armour, and the full equipment of a Cossack, and sent him away.
He went on and on for a whole day, he went on and on for a second day, and there was nothing to eat, either for his horse or himself. He went for a third day, and in the distance he saw a hay-cock. “That will do for my horse, at any rate,” thought he, “even if it is of no good to me.” So he went up to it, and immediately it burst into flames. Daniel began to weep, when he heard a voice crying piteously, “Save me, save me! I am burning!”––“How can I save thee,” he cried, “when I myself cannot draw near?”––“Oh! give me thy weapon!” cried the voice, “and I’ll seize hold of it, and then thou canst pull me out.” So he stretched forth his weapon, and drew forth a goodly serpent, such as is only known of in old folk-songs. And she said to him, “Since thou hast drawn me out, thou must also take me home.”––“How shall I carry thee?” asked he.––“Carry me on thy horse, and in whatsoever direction I turn my head and his, thither go.”––So he took her upon his horse, and they went on and on till they came to a court so splendid that it was a delight to look at it. Then she glided down from his charger and said, “Wait here, and I’ll soon be with thee again,” and with that she wriggled under the gate. He stood there and stood and waited and waited till he wept from sheer weariness; but, at last, she came out again in the shape of a lovely damsel in gorgeous raiment, and opened the gate for him. “Lead in thy horse,” said she, “and eat and rest awhile.” So they went into the courtyard, and in the midst of it stood two springs. The lady drew out of one of these springs a little glass of water, and strewing a handful of oats beside it, said, “Fasten up thy horse here!”––“What!” thought he, “for these three days we have had naught to eat or drink, and now she mocks us with a handful of oats!”––Then they went together to the guest-chamber, and she gave him there a little glass of water and a small piece of wheaten bread.––“Why, what is this for a hungry man like me?” thought he. But when he chanced to glance through the window, he saw that the whole courtyard was full of oats and water, and that his horse had already eaten its fill. Then he nibbled his little piece of wheaten bread and sipped his water, and his hunger was immediately satisfied. “Well,” said the lady, “hast thou eaten thy fill?”––“That I have,” he replied.––“Then lie down and rest awhile,” said she. And the next morning, when he rose up, she said to him, “Give me thy horse, thy armour, and thy raiment, and I’ll give thee mine in exchange.”––Then she gave him her shift and her weapon, and said, “This sword is of such a sort that, if thou do but wave it, all men will fall down before thee; and as for this shift, when once thou hast it on, none will be able to seize thee. And now go on thy way till thou come to an inn, and there they will tell thee that the Tsar of that land is seeking warriors. Go and offer thyself to him, and thou shalt marry his daughter, but tell her not the truth for seven years!” Then they took leave of each other, and he departed. He came to the inn, and there they asked him whence he came. And when they knew that he came from a strange land, they said to him, “A strange people has attacked our Tsar, and he cannot defend himself, for a mighty warrior has conquered his tsardom and carried off his daughter, and worries him to death.”––“Show me the way to your Tsar,” said Daniel. Then they showed him, and he went. When he came to the Tsar, he said to him, “I will subdue this strange land for thee. All the army I want is a couple of Cossacks, but they must be picked men.” Then the heralds went through the tsardom till they had found these two Cossacks, and Daniel went forth with them into the endless steppes, and there he bade them lie down and sleep while he kept watch. And while they slept the army of the strange country came upon them, and cried to Daniel to turn back if he would escape destruction. And then they began to fire with their guns and cannons, and they fired so many balls that the bodies of the two Cossacks were quite covered by them. Then Daniel waved his sword and smote, and only those whom his blows did not reach escaped alive. So he vanquished them all, and conquered that strange land, and came back and married the Tsar’s daughter, and they lived happily together.
DANIEL WAVED HIS SWORD
But counsellors from the strange land whispered dark sayings in the ears of the Tsarivna. “What is this fellow that thou hast taken to thyself? Who is he, and whence? Find out for us wherein lies his strength, that we may destroy him and take thee away.”––Then she began asking him, and he said to her, “Look now! all my strength is in these gloves.” Then she waited till he was asleep, and drew them off him, and gave them to the people from the strange land. And the next day he went hunting, and the evil counsellors surrounded and shot at him with their darts, and beat him with the gloves; but it was all in vain. Then he waved his sword, and whomsoever he struck fell to the ground, and he clapped them all in prison. But his wife caressed and wheedled him again, and said, “Nay, but tell me, wherein doth thy strength lie?”––“My strength, darling,” said he, “lies in my boots.” Then she drew off his boots while he slept, and gave them to his enemies. And they fell upon him again as he went out, but again he waved his sword, and as many as he struck fell to the ground, and he put them all in prison. Then his wife wheedled and caressed him the third time. “Nay, but tell me, darling,” quoth she, “wherein doth thy strength lie?” Then he was wearied with her beseeching, and said to her, “My strength lies in this sword of mine, and in my shirt, and so long as I have this shirt on, nobody can touch me.” Then she caressed and fondled him, and said, “Thou shouldst take a bath, my darling, and well wash thyself. My father always did so.” So he let himself be persuaded, and no sooner had he undressed than she changed all his clothes for others, and gave his sword and his shirt to his enemies. Then he came out of his bath, and immediately they fell upon him, cut him to pieces, put him in a sack, placed him on his horse, and let the horse go where it would. So the horse went on and on, and wandered farther and farther, till it came to the old place where he had stayed with the Serpent Lady. And when his benefactress saw him, she said, “Why, if poor unlucky Daniel hasn’t fallen into a scrape again.” And immediately she took him out of the sack, and fitted his pieces together, and washed them clean, and took healing water from one of the springs, and living water from the other, and sprinkled him all over, and he stood there sound and strong again. “Now, did I not bid thee tell not thy wife the truth for seven years?” said she, “and thou wouldst not take heed.” And he stood there, and spoke never a word. “Well, now, rest awhile,” she continued, “for thou dost need it, and then I’ll give thee something else.” So the next day she gave him a chain, and said to him, “Listen! Go to that inn where thou didst go before, and early next morning, whilst thou art bathing, bid the innkeeper beat thee with all his might on the back with this chain, and so thou wilt get back to thy wife, but tell her not a word of what has happened.” So he went to this same inn and passed the night there, and, on the morrow, he called the innkeeper, and said to him, “Look now! the first time I dip my head in the water, beat me about the back with this chain as hard as thou canst.” So the innkeeper waited till he had ducked his head under the water, and then he thrashed him with the chain, whereupon he turned into a horse so beautiful that it was a delight to look upon it. The innkeeper was so glad, so glad. “So I’ve got rid of one guest only to get another one,” thought he. He lost no time in taking the horse to the fair, and offered it for sale, and among those who saw it was the Tsar himself. “What dost thou ask for it?” said the Tsar.––“I ask five thousand roubles.” Then the Tsar counted down the money and took the horse away. When he got to his court, he made a great to-do about his beautiful horse, and cried to his daughter, “Come and see, dear little heart, what a fine horse I have bought.” Then she came forth to look at it; but the moment she saw it, she cried, “That horse will be my ruin. Thou must kill it on the spot.”––“Nay, dear little heart! how can I do such a thing?” said the Tsar.––“Slay it thou must, and slay it thou shalt!” cried the Tsarivna. So they sent for a knife, and began sharpening it, when one of the maidens of the court took pity on the horse, and cried, “Oh, my good, my darling horse, so lovely as thou art, and yet to kill thee!” But the horse neighed and went to her, and said, “Look now! take the first drop of blood which flows from me, and bury it in the garden.” Then they slew the horse, but the maiden did as she was told, and took the drop of blood and buried it in the garden. And from this drop of blood there sprang up a cherry-tree; and its first leaf was golden, and its second leaf was of richer colour still, and its third leaf was yet another colour, and every leaf upon it was different to the others. One day the Tsar went out walking in his garden, and when he saw this cherry-tree he fell in love with it, and praised it to his daughter. “Look!” said he, “what a beauteous cherry-tree we have in our garden! Who can tell whence it sprung?”––But the moment the Tsarivna saw it, she cried, “That tree will be my ruin! Thou must cut it down.”––“Nay!” said he, “how can I cut down the fairest ornament of my garden?”––“Down it must come, and down it shall come!” replied the Tsarivna. Then they sent for an axe and made ready to cut it down, but the damsel came running up, and said, “Oh, darling little cherry-tree, darling little cherry-tree, so fair thou art! From a horse hast thou sprung, and now they will fell thee before thou hast lived a day!”––“Never mind,” said the cherry-tree; “take the first chip that falls from me, and throw it into the water.”––Then they cut down the cherry-tree; but the girl did as she was bidden, and threw the first chip from the cherry-tree into the water, and out of it swam a drake so beautiful that it was a delight to look upon it. Then the Tsar went a-hunting, and saw it swimming in the water, and it was so close that he could touch it with his hand. The Tsar took off his clothes and plunged into the water after it, and it enticed him farther and farther away from the shore. Then the drake swam toward the spot where the Tsar had left his clothes, and when it came up to them it changed into a man and put them on, and behold! the man was Daniel. Then he called to the Tsar: “Swim hither, swim hither!” The Tsar swam up, but when he swam ashore Daniel met and killed him, and after that he went back to court in the Tsar’s clothes. Then all the courtiers hailed him as the Tsar, but he said, “Where is that damsel who was here just now?”––They brought her instantly before him. “Well,” said he to her, “thou hast been a second mother to me, and now thou shalt be my second wife!” So he lived with her and was happy, but he caused his first wife to be tied to the tails of wild horses and torn to pieces in the endless steppes.
HIS WIFE CARESSED AND WHEEDLED HIM
A sparrow once flew down upon a bush and said, “Little bush, give good little sparrow a swing.”––“I won’t!” said the little bush. Then the sparrow was angry, and went to the goat and said, “Goat, goat, nibble bush, bush won’t give good little sparrow a swing.”––“I won’t!” said the goat.––Then the sparrow went to the wolf and said, “Wolf, wolf, eat goat, goat won’t nibble bush, bush won’t give good little sparrow a swing.”––“I won’t!” said the wolf.––Then the sparrow went to the people and said, “Good people, kill wolf, wolf won’t eat goat, goat won’t nibble bush, bush won’t give good little sparrow a swing.”––“We won’t!” said the people.––Then the sparrow went to the Tartars and said, “Tartars, Tartars, slay people, people won’t kill wolf, wolf won’t eat goat, goat won’t nibble bush, bush won’t give good little sparrow a swing.”––But the Tartars said, “We won’t slay the people!” and the people said, “We won’t kill the wolf!” and the wolf said, “I won’t eat the goat!” and the goat said, “I won’t nibble the bush!” and the bush said, “I won’t give the good little sparrow a swing.”––“Go!” said the bush, “to the fire, for the Tartars won’t slay the people, and the people won’t kill the wolf, and the wolf won’t eat the goat, and the goat won’t nibble the bush, and the bush won’t give the dear little sparrow a swing.”––But the fire also said, “I won’t!” (they were all alike)––“go to the water,” said he.––So the sparrow went to the water and said, “Come water, quench fire, fire won’t burn Tartars, Tartars won’t slay people, people won’t kill wolf, wolf won’t eat goat, goat won’t nibble bush, bush won’t give good little sparrow a swing.”––But the water also said, “I won’t!” So the sparrow went to the ox and said, “Ox, ox, drink water, water won’t quench fire, fire won’t burn Tartars, Tartars won’t slay people, people won’t kill wolf, wolf won’t eat goat, goat won’t nibble bush, bush won’t give little sparrow a swing.”––“I won’t!” said the ox.––Then the sparrow went to the pole-axe and said, “Pole-axe, pole-axe, strike ox, ox won’t drink water, water won’t quench fire, fire won’t burn Tartars, Tartars won’t slay people, people won’t kill wolf, wolf won’t eat goat, goat won’t nibble bush, bush won’t give little sparrow a swing.”––“I won’t!” said the pole-axe.––So the sparrow went to the worms and said, “Worms, worms, gnaw pole-axe, pole-axe won’t strike ox, ox won’t drink water, water won’t quench fire, fire won’t burn Tartars, Tartars won’t slay people, people won’t kill wolf, wolf won’t eat goat, goat won’t nibble bush, bush won’t give little sparrow a swing.”––“We won’t!” said the worms.––Then the sparrow went to the hen and said, “Hen, hen, peck worms, worms won’t gnaw pole-axe, pole-axe won’t strike ox, ox won’t drink water, water won’t quench fire, fire won’t burn Tartars, Tartars won’t slay people, people won’t kill wolf, wolf won’t eat goat, goat won’t nibble bush, bush won’t give little sparrow a swing.”––“I won’t!” said the hen, “but go to the sparrow-hawk, he ought to give the first push, or why is he called the Pusher!”[14]––So the sparrow went to the sparrow-hawk and said, “Come, pusher, seize hen, hen won’t peck worms, worms won’t gnaw pole-axe, pole-axe won’t strike ox, ox won’t drink water, water won’t quench fire, fire won’t burn Tartars, Tartars won’t slay people, people won’t kill wolf, wolf won’t eat goat, goat won’t nibble bush, bush won’t give little sparrow a swing.”
Then the sparrow-hawk began to seize the hen, the hen began to peck the worms, the worms began to gnaw the pole-axe, the pole-axe began to hit the ox, the ox began to drink the water, the water began to quench the fire, the fire began to burn the Tartars, the Tartars began to slay the people, the people began to kill the wolf, the wolf began to eat the goat, the goat began to nibble the bush, and the bush cried out:
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“Swing away, swing away, swi-i-i-i-ing! |
There was once a man who had a dog. While the dog was young he was made much of, but when he grew old he was driven out of doors. So he went and lay outside the fence, and a wolf came up to him and said, “Doggy, why so down in the mouth?”––“While I was young,” said the dog, “they made much of me; but now that I am old they beat me.” The wolf said, “I see thy master in the field; go after him, and perchance he’ll give thee something.”––“Nay,” said the dog, “they won’t even let me walk about the fields now, they only beat me.”––“Look now,” said the wolf, “I’m sorry, and will make things better for thee. Thy mistress, I see, has put her child down beneath that wagon. I’ll seize it, and make off with it. Run thou after me and bark, and though thou hast no teeth left, touzle me as much as thou canst, so that thy mistress may see it.”
So the wolf seized the child, and ran away with it, and the dog ran after him, and began to touzle him. His mistress saw it, and made after them with a harrow, crying at the same time, “Husband, husband! the wolf has got the child! Gabriel, Gabriel! don’t you see? The wolf has got the child!” Then the man chased the wolf, and got back the child. “Brave old dog!” said he; “you are old and toothless, and yet you can give help in time of need, and will not let your master’s child be stolen.” And henceforth the woman and her husband gave the old dog a large lump of bread every day.
In a certain forest there once lived a fox, and near to the fox lived a man who had a cat that had been a good mouser in its youth, but was now old and half blind. The man didn’t want puss any longer, but not liking to kill it, took it out into the forest and lost it there. Then the fox came up and said, “Why, Mr Shaggy Matthew! How d’ye do! What brings you here?”––“Alas!” said Pussy, “my master loved me as long as I could bite, but now that I can bite no longer and have left off catching mice––and I used to catch them finely once––he doesn’t like to kill me, but he has left me in the wood where I must perish miserably.”––“No, dear Pussy!” said the fox; “you leave it to me, and I’ll help you to get your daily bread.”––“You are very good, dear little sister foxey!” said the cat, and the fox built him a little shed with a garden round it to walk about in.
Now one day the hare came to steal the man’s cabbage. “Kreem-kreem-kreem!” he squeaked. But the cat popped his head out of the window, and when he saw the hare, he put up his back and stuck up his tail and said, “Ft-t-t-t-t-Frrrrrrr!” The hare was frightened and ran away and told the bear, the wolf, and the wild boar all about it. “Never mind,” said the bear, “I tell you what, we’ll all four give a banquet, and invite the fox and the cat, and do for the pair of them. Now, look here! I’ll steal the man’s mead; and you, Mr Wolf, steal his fat-pot; and you, Mr Wildboar, root up his fruit-trees; and you, Mr Bunny, go and invite the fox and the cat to dinner.”
So they made everything ready as the bear had said, and the hare ran off to invite the guests. He came beneath the window and said, “We invite your little ladyship Foxey-Woxey, together with Mr Shaggy Matthew, to dinner”––and back he ran again.––“But you should have told them to bring their spoons with them,” said the bear.––“Oh, what a head I’ve got! if I didn’t quite forget!” cried the hare, and back he went again, ran beneath the window and cried, “Mind you bring your spoons!”––“Very well,” said the fox.
So the cat and the fox went to the banquet, and when the cat saw the bacon, he put up his back and stuck out his tail, and cried, “Mee-oo, mee-oo!” with all his might. But they thought he said, “Ma-lo, ma-lo[15]!”––“What!” said the bear, who was hiding behind the beeches with the other beasts, “here have we four been getting together all we could, and this pig-faced cat calls it too little! What a monstrous cat he must be to have such an appetite!” So they were all four very frightened, and the bear ran up a tree, and the others hid where they could. But when the cat saw the boar’s bristles sticking out from behind the bushes he thought it was a mouse, and put up his back again and cried, “Ft! ft! ft! Frrrrrrr!” Then they were more frightened than ever. And the boar went into a bush still farther off, and the wolf went behind an oak, and the bear got down from the tree, and climbed up into a bigger one, and the hare ran right away.
But the cat remained in the midst of all the good things and ate away at the bacon, and the little fox gobbled up the honey, and they ate and ate till they couldn’t eat any more, and then they both went home licking their paws.
There was once upon a time an old man and an old woman. The old man worked in the fields as a pitch-burner, while the old woman sat at home and spun flax. They were so poor that they could save nothing at all; all their earnings went in bare food, and when that was gone there was nothing left. At last the old woman had a good idea. “Look now, husband,” cried she, “make me a straw ox, and smear it all over with tar.”––“Why, you foolish woman!” said he, “what’s the good of an ox of that sort?”––“Never mind,” said she, “you just make it. I know what I am about.”––What was the poor man to do? He set to work and made the ox of straw, and smeared it all over with tar.
The night passed away, and at early dawn the old woman took her distaff, and drove the straw ox out into the steppe to graze, and she herself sat down behind a hillock, and began spinning her flax, and cried, “Graze away, little ox, while I spin my flax! Graze away, little ox, while I spin my flax!” And while she spun, her head drooped down and she began to doze, and while she was dozing, from behind the dark wood and from the back of the huge pines a bear came rushing out upon the ox and said, “Who are you? Speak and tell me!”––And the ox said, “A three-year-old heifer am I, made of straw and smeared with tar.”––“Oh!” said the bear, “stuffed with straw and trimmed with tar, are you? Then give me of your straw and tar, that I may patch up my ragged fur again!”––“Take some,” said the ox, and the bear fell upon him and began to tear away at the tar. He tore and tore, and buried his teeth in it till he found he couldn’t let go again. He tugged and he tugged, but it was no good, and the ox dragged him gradually off goodness knows where. Then the old woman awoke, and there was no ox to be seen. “Alas! old fool that I am!” cried she, “perchance it has gone home.” Then she quickly caught up her distaff and spinning-board, threw them over her shoulders, and hastened off home, and she saw that the ox had dragged the bear up to the fence, and in she went to the old man. “Dad, dad!” she cried, “look, look! the ox has brought us a bear. Come out and kill it!” Then the old man jumped up, tore off the bear, tied him up, and threw him in the cellar.
Next morning, between dark and dawn, the old woman took her distaff and drove the ox into the steppe to graze. She herself sat down by a mound, began spinning, and said, “Graze, graze away, little ox, while I spin my flax! Graze, graze away, little ox, while I spin my flax!” And while she spun, her head drooped down and she dozed. And, lo! from behind the dark wood, from the back of the huge pines, a grey wolf came rushing out upon the ox and said, “Who are you? Come, tell me!”––“I am a three-year-old heifer, stuffed with straw and trimmed with tar,” said the ox.––“Oh! trimmed with tar, are you? Then give me of your tar to tar my sides, that the dogs and the sons of dogs tear me not!”––“Take some,” said the ox. And with that the wolf fell upon him and tried to tear the tar off. He tugged and tugged, and tore with his teeth, but could get none off. Then he tried to let go, and couldn’t; tug and worry as he might, it was no good. When the old woman woke, there was no heifer in sight. “Maybe my heifer has gone home!” she cried; “I’ll go home and see.” When she got there she was astonished, for by the palings stood the ox with the wolf still tugging at it. She ran and told her old man, and her old man came and threw the wolf into the cellar also.
On the third day the old woman again drove her ox into the pastures to graze, and sat down by a mound and dozed off. Then a fox came running up. “Who are you?” it asked the ox.––“I’m a three-year-old heifer, stuffed with straw and daubed with tar.”––“Then give me some of your tar to smear my sides with, when those dogs and sons of dogs tear my hide!”––“Take some,” said the ox. Then the fox fastened her teeth in him and couldn’t draw them out again. The old woman told her old man, and he took and cast the fox into the cellar in the same way. And after that they caught Pussy Swift-foot[16] likewise.
So when he had got them all safely, the old man sat down on a bench before the cellar and began sharpening a knife. And the bear said to him, “Tell me, daddy, what are you sharpening your knife for?”––“To flay your skin off, that I may make a leather jacket for myself and a pelisse for my old wife.”––“Oh! don’t flay me, daddy dear! Rather let me go, and I’ll bring you a lot of honey.”––“Very well, see you do it,” and he unbound and let the bear go. Then he sat down on the bench and again began sharpening his knife. And the wolf asked him, “Daddy, what are you sharpening your knife for?”––“To flay off your skin, that I may make me a warm cap against the winter.”––“Oh! don’t flay me, daddy dear, and I’ll bring you a whole herd of little sheep.”––“Well, see that you do it,” and he let the wolf go. Then he sat down and began sharpening his knife again. The fox put out her little snout and asked him, “Be so kind, dear daddy, and tell me why you are sharpening your knife!”––“Little foxes,” said the old man, “have nice skins that do capitally for collars and trimmings, and I want to skin you!”––“Oh! don’t take my skin away, daddy dear, and I will bring you hens and geese.”––“Very well, see that you do it!” and he let the fox go. The hare now alone remained, and the old man began sharpening his knife on the hare’s account. “Why do you do that?” asked puss, and he replied, “Little hares have nice little soft warm skins, which will make me gloves and mittens against the winter!”––“Oh! daddy dear! don’t flay me, and I’ll bring you kale and good cauliflower, if only you let me go!” Then he let the hare go also.
Then they went to bed, but very early in the morning, when it was neither dusk nor dawn, there was a noise in the doorway like “Durrrrrr!”––“Daddy!” cried the old woman, “there’s some one scratching at the door, go and see who it is!” The old man went out, and there was the bear carrying a whole hive full of honey. The old man took the honey from the bear, but no sooner did he lie down than again there was another “Durrrrr!” at the door. The old man looked out and saw the wolf driving a whole flock of sheep into the yard. Close on his heels came the fox, driving before him geese and hens and all manner of fowls; and last of all came the hare, bringing cabbage and kale and all manner of good food. And the old man was glad, and the old woman was glad. And the old man sold the sheep and oxen and got so rich that he needed nothing more. As for the straw-stuffed ox, it stood in the sun till it fell to pieces.
There was once upon a time an old man and an old woman, and the old man had a daughter, and the old woman had a daughter. And the old woman said to the old man, “Go and buy a heifer, that thy daughter may have something to look after!” So the old man went to the fair and bought a heifer.
Now the old woman spoiled her own daughter, but was always snapping at the old man’s daughter. Yet the old man’s daughter was a good, hard-working girl, while as for the old woman’s daughter, she was but an idle slut. She did nothing but sit down all day with her hands in her lap. One day the old woman said to the old man’s daughter, “Look now, thou daughter of a dog, go and drive out the heifer to graze! Here thou hast two bundles of flax. See that thou unravel it, and reel it, and bleach it, and bring it home all ready in the evening!” Then the girl took the flax and drove the heifer out to graze.
So the heifer began to graze, but the girl sat down and began to weep. And the heifer said to her, “Tell me, dear little maiden, wherefore dost thou weep?”––“Alas! why should I not weep? My stepmother has given me this flax and bidden me unravel it, and reel it, and bleach it, and bring it back as cloth in the evening.”––“Grieve not, maiden!” said the heifer, “it will all turn out well. Lie down to sleep!”––So she lay down to sleep, and when she awoke the flax was all unravelled and reeled and spun into fine cloth, and bleached. Then she drove the heifer home and gave the cloth to her stepmother. The old woman took it and hid it away, that nobody might know that the old man’s daughter had brought it to her.
The next day she said to her own daughter, “Dear little daughter, drive the heifer out to graze, and here is a little piece of flax for thee, unravel it and reel it, or unravel it not and reel it not as thou likest best, but bring it home with thee.” Then she drove the heifer out to graze, and threw herself down in the grass, and slept the whole day, and did not even take the trouble to go and moisten the flax in the cooling stream. And in the evening she drove the heifer back from the field and gave her mother the flax. “Oh, mammy!” she said, “my head ached so the whole day, and the sun scorched so, that I couldn’t go down to the stream to moisten the flax.”––“Never mind,” said her mother, “lie down and sleep; it will do for another day.”
And the next day she called the old man’s daughter again, “Get up, thou daughter of a dog, and take the heifer out to graze. And here thou hast a bundle of raw flax; unravel it, heckle it, wind it on to thy spindles, bleach it, weave with it, and make it into fine cloth for me by the evening!”––Then the girl drove out the heifer to graze. The heifer began grazing, but she sat down beneath a willow-tree, and threw her flax down beside her, and began weeping with all her might. But the heifer came up to her and said, “Tell me, little maiden, wherefore dost thou weep?”––“Why should I not weep?” said she, and she told the heifer all about it.––“Grieve not!” said the heifer, “it will all come right, but lie down to sleep.”––So she lay down and immediately fell asleep. And by evening the bundle of raw flax was heckled and spun and reeled, and the cloth was woven and bleached, so that one could have made shirts of it straight off. Then she drove the heifer home, and gave the cloth to her stepmother.
THE GIRL DROVE THE HEIFER OUT TO GRAZE
Then the old woman said to herself, “How comes it that this daughter of the son of a dog has done all her task so easily? The heifer must have got it done for her, I know. But I’ll put a stop to all this, thou daughter of the son of a dog,” said she. Then she went to the old man and said, “Father, kill and cut to pieces this heifer of thine, for because of it thy daughter does not a stroke of work. She drives the heifer out to graze, and goes to sleep the whole day and does nothing.”––“Then I’ll kill it!” said he.––But the old man’s daughter heard what he said, and went into the garden and began to weep bitterly. The heifer came to her and said, “Tell me, dear little maiden, wherefore dost thou weep?”––“Why should I not weep,” she said, “when they want to kill thee?”––“Don’t grieve,” said the heifer, “it will all come right. When they have killed me, ask thy stepmother to give thee my entrails to wash, and in them thou wilt find a grain of corn. Plant this grain of corn, and out of it will grow up a willow-tree, and whatever thou dost want, go to this willow-tree and ask, and thou shalt have thy heart’s desire.”
Then her father slew the heifer, and she went to her stepmother and said, “Prythee, let me have the entrails of the heifer to wash!”––And her stepmother answered, “As if I would let anybody else do such work but thee!”––Then she went and washed them, and sure enough she found the grain of corn, planted it by the porch, trod down the earth, and watered it a little. And the next morning, when she awoke, she saw that a willow-tree had sprung out of this grain of corn, and beneath the willow-tree was a spring of water, and no better water was to be found anywhere in the whole village. It was as cold and as clear as ice.
When Sunday came round, the old woman tricked her pet daughter out finely, and took her to church, but to the old man’s daughter she said, “Look to the fire, thou slut! Keep a good fire burning and get ready the dinner, and make everything in the house neat and tidy, and have thy best frock on, and all the shirts washed against I come back from church. And if thou hast not all these things done, thou shalt say good-bye to dear life.”
So the old woman and her daughter went to church, and the smart little stepdaughter made the fire burn up, and got the dinner ready, and then went to the willow-tree and said, “Willow-tree, willow-tree, come out of thy bark! Lady Anna, come when I call thee!” Then the willow-tree did its duty, and shook all its leaves, and a noble lady came forth from it. “Dear little lady, sweet little lady, what are thy commands?” said she.––“Give me,” said she, “a grand dress and let me have a carriage and horses, for I would go to God’s House!”––And immediately she was dressed in silk and satin, with golden slippers on her feet, and the carriage came up and she went to church.
When she entered the church there was a great to-do, and every one said, “Oh! oh! oh! Who is it? Is it perchance some princess or some queen? for the like of it we have never seen before.” Now the young Tsarevich chanced to be in church at that time. When he saw her, his heart began to beat. He stood there, and could not take his eyes off her. And all the great captains and courtiers marvelled at her and fell in love with her straightway. But who she was, they knew not. When service was over, she got up and drove away. When she got home, she took off all her fine things, and put on all her rags again, and sat in the window-corner and watched the folk coming from church.
Then her stepmother came back too. “Is the dinner ready?” said she.––“Yes, it is ready.”––“Hast thou sewn the shirts?”––“Yes, the shirts are sewn too.”––Then they sat down to meat, and began to relate how they had seen such a beautiful young lady at church.––“The Tsarevich,” said the old woman, “instead of saying his prayers, was looking at her all the while, so goodly was she.” Then she said to the old man’s daughter, “As for thee, thou slut! though thou hast sewn the shirts and bleached them, thou art but a dirty under-wench!”
On the following Sunday the stepmother again dressed up her daughter, and took her to church. But, before she went, she said to the old man’s daughter, “See that thou keep the fire in, thou slut!” and she gave her a lot of work to do. The old man’s daughter very soon did it all, and then she went to the willow-tree and said, “Bright spring willow, bright spring willow, change thee, transform thee!” Then still statelier dames stepped forth from the willow-tree, “Dear little lady, sweet little lady, what commands hast thou to give?” She told them what she wanted, and they gave her a gorgeous dress, and put golden shoes on her feet, and she went to church in a grand carriage. The Tsarevich was again there, and at the sight of her he stood as if rooted to the ground, and couldn’t take his eyes from her. Then the people began to whisper, “Is there none here who knows her? Is there none who knows who such a handsome lady may be!” And they began to ask each other, “Dost thou know her? Dost thou know her?”––But the Tsarevich said, “Whoever will tell me who this great lady is, to him will I give a sack-load of gold ducats!”––Then they inquired and inquired, and laid all their heads together, but nothing came of it. But the Tsarevich had a jester who was always with him, and used always to jest and cut capers whenever this child of the Tsar was sad. So now, too, he began to laugh at the young Tsarevich and say to him, “I know how to find out who this fine lady is.”––“How?” asked the young Tsarevich.––“I’ll tell thee,” said the jester; “smear with pitch the place in church where she is wont to stand. Then her slippers will stick to it, and she, in her hurry to get away, will never notice that she has left them behind her in church.”––So the Tsarevich ordered his courtiers to smear the spot with pitch straightway. Next time, when the service was over, she got up as usual and hastened away, but left her golden slippers behind her. When she got home she took off her costly raiment and put on her rags, and waited in the window-corner till they came from church.
When they came from church they had all sorts of things to talk about, and how the young Tsarevich had fallen in love with the grand young lady, and how they were unable to tell him whence she came, or who she was, and the stepmother hated the old man’s daughter all the more because she had done her work so nicely.
But the Tsarevich did nothing but pine away. And they proclaimed throughout the kingdom, “Who has lost a pair of golden slippers?” But none could tell. Then the Tsar sent his wise councillors throughout the kingdom to find her. “If ye do not find her,” said he, “it will be the death of my child, and then ye also are dead men.”
So the Tsar’s councillors went through all the towns and villages, and measured the feet of all the maidens against the golden slippers, and she was to be the bride of the Tsarevich whom the golden slippers fitted. They went to the houses of all the princes, and all the nobles, and all the rich merchants, but it was of no avail. The feet of all the maidens were either too little or too large. Then they hied them to the huts of the peasants.
THE TSAR’S COUNCILLORS WENT TO THE HOUSES OF ALL THE NOBLES AND PRINCES
They went on and on, they measured and measured, and at last they were so tired that they could scarce draw one foot after the other. Then they looked about them and saw a beautiful willow-tree standing by a hut, and beneath the willow-tree was a spring of water. “Let us go and rest in the cool shade,” said they. So they went and rested, and the old woman came out of the hut to them.––“Hast thou a daughter, little mother?” said they.––“Yes, that I have,” said she.––“One or two?” they asked.––“Well, there is another,” said she, “but she is not my daughter, she is a mere kitchen slut, the very look of her is nasty.”––“Very well,” said they, “we will measure them with the golden slippers.”––“Good!” cried the old woman. Then she said to her own daughter, “Go, my dear little daughter, tidy thyself up a bit, and wash thy little feet!”––But the old man’s daughter she drove behind the stove, and the poor thing was neither washed nor dressed. “Sit there, thou daughter of a dog!” said she.––Then the Tsar’s councillors came into the hut to measure, and the old woman said to her daughter, “Put out thy little foot, darling!”––The councillors then measured with the slippers, but they wouldn’t fit her at all. Then they said, “Tell us, little mother, where is thy other daughter?”––“Oh, as for her, she is a mere slut, and besides she isn’t dressed.”––“No matter,” said they; “where is she?”––Then she came out from behind the stove, and her stepmother hustled her and said, “Get along, thou sluttish hussy!”––Then they measured her with the slippers, and they fitted like gloves, whereupon the courtiers rejoiced exceedingly and praised the Lord.
“Well, little mother,” said they, “we will take this daughter away with us.”––“What! take a slattern like that? Why, all the people will laugh at you!”––“Maybe they will,” said they.––Then the old woman scolded, and wouldn’t let her go. “How can such a slut become the consort of the Tsar’s son?” screeched she.––“Nay, but she must come!” said they; “go, dress thyself, maiden!”––“Wait but a moment,” said she, “and I’ll tire myself as is meet!”––Then she went to the spring beneath the willow-tree, and washed and dressed herself, and she came back so lovely and splendid that the like of it can neither be thought of nor guessed at, but only told of in tales. As she entered the hut she shone like the sun, and her stepmother had not another word to say.
So they put her in a carriage and drove off, and when the Tsarevich saw her, he could not contain himself. “Make haste, O my father!” cried he, “and give us thy blessing.” So the Tsar blessed them, and they were wedded. Then they made a great feast and invited all the world to it. And they lived happily together, and ate wheat-bread to their hearts’ content.
There was once upon a time a parson who had a servant, and when this servant had served him faithfully for twelve years and upward, he came to the parson and said, “Let us now settle our accounts, master, and pay me what thou owest me. I have now served long enough, and would fain have a little place in the wide world all to myself.”––“Good!” said the parson. “I’ll tell thee now what wage I’ll give thee for thy faithful service. I’ll give thee this egg. Take it home, and when thou gettest there, make to thyself a cattle-pen, and make it strong; then break the egg in the middle of thy cattle-pen, and thou shalt see something. But whatever thou doest, don’t break it on thy way home, or all thy luck will leave thee.”
So the servant departed on his homeward way. He went on and on, and at last he thought to himself, “Come now, I’ll see what is inside this egg of mine!” So he broke it, and out of it came all sorts of cattle in such numbers that the open steppe became like a fair. The servant stood there in amazement, and he thought to himself, “However in God’s world shall I be able to drive all these cattle back again?” He had scarcely uttered the words when the Iron Wolf came running up, and said to him, “I’ll collect and drive back all these cattle into the egg again, and I’ll patch the egg up so that it will become quite whole. But in return for that,” continued the Iron Wolf, “whenever thou dost sit down on the bridal bench,[17] I’ll come and eat thee.”––“Well,” thought the servant to himself, “a lot of things may happen before I sit down on the bridal bench and he comes to eat me, and in the meantime I shall get all these cattle. Agreed, then,” said he. So the Iron Wolf immediately collected all the cattle, and drove them back into the egg, and patched up the egg and made it whole just as it was before.
The servant went home to the village where he lived, made him a cattle-pen stronger than strong, went inside it and broke the egg, and immediately that cattle-pen was as full of cattle as it could hold. Then he took to farming and cattle-breeding, and he became so rich that in the whole wide world there was none richer than he. He kept to himself, and his goods increased and multiplied exceedingly; the only thing wanting to his happiness was a wife, but a wife he was afraid to take. Now near to where he lived was a General who had a lovely daughter, and this daughter fell in love with the rich man. So the General went and said to him, “Come, why don’t you marry? I’ll give you my daughter and lots of money with her.”––“How is it possible for me to marry?” replied the man; “as soon as ever I sit down on the bridal bench, the Iron Wolf will come and eat me up.” And he told the General all that had happened.––“Oh, nonsense!” said the General, “don’t be afraid. I have a mighty host, and when the time comes for you to sit down on the bridal bench, we’ll surround your house with three strong rows of soldiers, and they won’t let the Iron Wolf get at you, I can tell you.” So they talked the matter over till he let himself be persuaded, and then they began to make great preparations for the bridal banquet. Everything went off excellently well, and they made merry till the time came when bride and bridegroom were to sit down together on the bridal bench. Then the General placed his men in three strong rows all round the house so as not to let the Iron Wolf get in; and no sooner had the young people sat down upon the bridal bench, than, sure enough, the Iron Wolf came running up. He saw the host standing round the house in three strong rows, but through all three rows he leaped and made straight for the house. But the man, as soon as he saw the Iron Wolf, leaped out of the window, mounted his horse, and galloped off with the wolf after him.
Away and away he galloped, and after him came the wolf, but try as it would, it could not catch him up anyhow. At last, toward evening, the man stopped and looked about him, and saw that he was in a lone forest, and before him stood a hut. He went up to this hut, and saw an old man and an old woman sitting in front of it, and said to them, “Would you let me rest a little while with you, good people?”––“By all means!” said they.––“There is one thing, however, good people!” said he, “don’t let the Iron Wolf catch me while I am resting with you.”––“Have no fear of that!” replied the old couple. “We have a dog called Chutko,[18] who can hear a wolf coming a mile off, and he’ll be sure to let us know.” So he laid him down to sleep, and was just dropping off when Chutko began to bark. Then the old people awoke him, and said, “Be off! be off! for the Iron Wolf is coming.” And they gave him the dog, and a wheaten hearth-cake as provision by the way.
So he went on and on, and the dog followed after him till it began to grow dark, and then he perceived another hut in another forest. He went up to that hut, and in front of it were sitting an old man and an old woman. He asked them for a night’s lodging. “Only,” said he, “take care that the Iron Wolf doesn’t catch me!”––“Have no fear of that,” said they. “We have a dog here called Vazhko,[19] who can hear a wolf nine miles off.” So he laid him down and slept. Just before dawn Vazhko began to bark. Immediately they awoke him. “Run!” cried they, “the Iron Wolf is coming!” And they gave him the dog, and a barley hearth-cake as provision by the way. So he took the hearth-cake, sat him on his horse, and off he went, and his two dogs followed after him.
He went on and on. On and on he went till evening, when again he stopped and looked about him, and he saw that he was in another forest, and another little hut stood before him. He went into the hut, and there were sitting an old man and an old woman. “Will you let me pass the night here, good people?” said he; “only take care that the Iron Wolf does not get hold of me!”––“Have no fear!” said they, “we have a dog called Bary, who can hear a wolf coming twelve miles off. He’ll let us know.” So he lay down to sleep, and early in the morning Bary let them know that the Iron Wolf was drawing nigh. Immediately they awoke him. “’Tis high time for you to be off!” said they. Then they gave him the dog, and a buckwheat hearth-cake as provision by the way. He took the hearth-cake, sat him on his horse, and off he went. So now he had three dogs, and they all three followed him.
He went on and on, and toward evening he found himself in front of another hut. He went into it, and there was nobody there. He went and lay down, and his dogs lay down also, Chutko on the threshold of the room door, Vazhko at the threshold of the house door, and Bary at the threshold of the outer gate. Presently the Iron Wolf came trotting up. Immediately Chutko gave the alarm, Vazhko nailed him to the earth, and Bary tore him to pieces.
Then the man gathered his faithful dogs around him, mounted his horse, and went back to his own home.
There were, once upon a time, three brothers, and the third was a fool. And in their little garden grew golden apple-trees with golden apples, and not far off lived a hog that had taken a fancy to these apples. So the father sent his sons into the garden to guard the trees. The eldest went first, and sat and sat and watched and watched till he was tired of watching, and fell asleep. Then the hog crept in, and dug and dug till he had digged up an apple-tree, which he ate up, and then went his way. The father got up next morning and counted his apple-trees, and one of them was gone. The next night the father sent the second son to watch. He waited and watched till he also fell asleep, and the hog came again and dug up and ate another golden apple-tree and made off. The next morning the father got up again and counted his trees, and another was gone. Then the fool said, “Dad, let me go too!” But the father said, “Oh, fool, fool, wherefore shouldst thou go? Thy wise brethren have watched to no purpose, what canst thou do?”––“Hoity-toity!” said the fool; “give me a gun, and I’ll go all the same.” His father wouldn’t give him a gun, so he took it, and went to watch. He placed his gun across his knees and sat down. He sat and sat, but nothing came, nothing came; he got drowsy, was nodding off, when his gun fell off his knees, and he awoke with a start and watched more warily. At last he heard something––and there stood the hog. It began to dig up another tree, when he pulled the trigger and––bang! His brothers heard the sound, came running up, were quite amazed to see a dead boar lying there, and said, “What will become of us now?”––“Let us kill him,” said the eldest brother, “and bury him in that ditch, and say that we killed the hog.” So they took and slew him, and buried him in the ditch, and took the hog to their father, and said, “While we were watching, this hog came up and began digging, so we killed him and have brought him to you.”
One day a nobleman came by that way, and was surprised to see a beautiful elder-bush growing out of the ditch; so he went up to it, cut off a branch, made him a flute out of it, and began playing upon it. But the flute played of its own accord, and made this moan:
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“Play, good master, play, |
The nobleman then went on to the inn, and there he found the fool’s father. “Such a funny thing has happened to me,” said the nobleman. “I went and cut me out a flute from an elder-bush, and lo! it plays of its own accord!” Then the father took the flute and tried his hand at it, and it sang:
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“Play, good daddy, play, |
The father was so astonished that he bought it, and took it home, and gave it to the mother for her to play upon it, and it sang:
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“Play, good mammy, play, |
Then the father gave the flute to his brothers to play upon, but they wouldn’t. “Nay, but you must!” said their father. Then the younger brother took and played upon it:
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“Play, my brother, play, |
Then the father gave the flute to the elder brother who had slain him, but he wouldn’t take it. “Take it and play upon it!” roared his father at him. Then he took it and played:
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“Play, my brother, play, |
“Then it was thou who didst slay him?” cried the father. What could the elder brother do but confess it! Then they dug the dead man up, and buried him in the cemetery; but they tied the elder brother to a wild horse, which scattered his bones about the endless steppe.
But I was there, and drank wine and mead till my beard was wet.
Somewhere, nowhere, in a certain kingdom, in a certain empire, time out of mind, and in no land of ours, dwelt a Tsar who was so proud, so very proud, that he feared neither God nor man. He listened to no good counsel from whithersoever it might come, but did only that which was good in his own eyes, and nobody durst put him right. And all his ministers and nobles grieved exceedingly, and all the people grieved likewise.
One day this Tsar went to church; the priest was reading from Holy Scripture, and so he needs must listen. Now there were certain words there which pleased him not. “To say such words to me!” thought he, “words that I can never forget, though I grow grey-headed.” After service the Tsar went home, and bade them send the priest to him. The priest came. “How durst thou read such and such passages to me?” said the Tsar.––“They were written to be read,” replied the priest.––“Written, indeed! And wouldst thou then read everything that is written? Smear those places over with grease, and never dare to read them again, I say!”––“’Tis not I who have written those words, your Majesty,” said the priest; “nor is it for such as I to smear them over.”––“What! thou dost presume to teach me? I am the Tsar, and it is thy duty to obey me.”––“In all things will I obey thee, O Tsar, save only in sacred things. God is over them, men cannot alter them.”––“Not alter them!” roared the Tsar; “if I wish them altered, altered they must be. Strike me out those words instantly, I say, and never dare read them in church again. Dost hear?”––“I dare not,” said the priest, “I have no will in the matter.”––“I command thee, fellow!”––“I dare not, O Tsar!”––“Well,” said the Tsar, “I’ll give thee three days to think about it, and on the evening of the fourth day appear before me, and I’ll strike thy head from thy shoulders if thou dost not obey me!” Then the priest bowed low and went home.
The third day was already drawing to a close, and the priest knew not what to do. It was no great terror to him to die for the faith, but what would become of his wife and children? He walked about, and wept, and wrung his hands: “Oh, woe is me! woe is me!” At last he lay down on his bed, but sleep he could not. Only toward dawn did he doze off, then he saw in a dream an angel standing at his head. “Fear nothing!” said the angel. “God hath sent me down on earth to protect thee!” So, early in the morning, the priest rose up full of joy and prayed gratefully to God.
The Tsar also awoke early in the morning, and bawled to his huntsmen to gather together and go a-hunting with him in the forest.
So away they went hunting in the forest, and it was not long before a stag leaped out of the thicket beneath the very eyes of the Tsar. Off after it went the Tsar; every moment the stag seemed to be faltering, and yet the Tsar could never quite come up with it. Hot with excitement, the Tsar spurred his horse on yet faster. “Gee up! gee up!” he cried; “now we’ve got him!” But here a stream crossed the road, and the stag plunged into the water. The Tsar was a good swimmer. “I’ve got him now, at any rate,” thought he. “A little longer, and I shall hold him by the horns.” So the Tsar took off his clothes, and into the water he plunged after the stag. But the stag swam across to the opposite bank, and the Tsar was extending his hand to seize him by the horns––when there was no longer any stag to be seen. It was the angel who had taken the form of a stag. The Tsar was amazed. He looked about him on every side, and wondered where the stag had gone. Then he saw some one on the other side of the river putting on his clothes, and presently the man mounted his horse and galloped away. The Tsar thought it was some evil-doer, but it was the self-same angel that had now put on the Tsar’s clothes and gone away to collect the huntsmen and take them home. As for the Tsar, he remained all naked and solitary in the forest.
At last he looked about him and saw, far, far away, smoke rising above the forest, and something like a dark cloud standing in the clear sky. “Maybe,” thought he, “that is my hunting-pavilion.” So he went in the direction of the smoke, and came at last to a brick-kiln. The brick-burners came forth to meet him, and were amazed to see a naked man. “What is he doing here?” they thought. And they saw that his feet were lame and bruised, and his body covered with scratches. “Give me to drink,” said he, “and I would fain eat something also.” The brick-burners had pity on him; they gave him an old tattered garment to wear and a piece of black bread and a gherkin to eat. Never from the day of his birth had the Tsar had such a tasty meal. “And now speak, O man!” said they; “who art thou?”––“I’ll tell you who I am,” said he, when he had eaten his fill; “I am your Tsar. Lead me to my capital, and there I will reward you!”––“What, thou wretched rogue!” they cried, “thou dost presume to mock us, thou old ragamuffin, and magnify thyself into a Tsar! Thou reward us, indeed!” And they looked at him in amazement and scorn.––“Dare to laugh at me again,” said he, “and I’ll have your heads chopped off!” For he forgot himself, and thought he was at home.––“What! thou!” Then they fell upon him and beat him. They beat him and hauled him about most unmercifully, and then they drove him away, and off he went bellowing through the forest.
He went on and on till at last he saw once more a smoke rising up out of the wood. Again he thought, “That is surely my hunting-pavilion,” and so he went up to it. And toward evening he came to another brick-kiln. There, too, they had pity upon and kindly entreated him. They gave him to eat and to drink. They also gave him ragged hose and a tattered shirt, for they were very poor people. They took him to be a runaway soldier, or some other poor man, but when he had eaten his fill and clothed himself, he said to them, “I am your Tsar!” They laughed at him, and again he began to talk roughly to the people. Then they fell upon him and thrashed him soundly, and drove him right away. And he wandered all by himself through the forest till it was night. Then he laid him down beneath a tree, and so he passed the night, and rising up very early, fared on his way straight before him.
At last he came to a third brick-kiln, but he did not tell the brick-burners there that he was the Tsar. All he thought of now was how he might reach his capital. The people here, too, treated him kindly, and seeing that his feet were lame and bruised, they had compassion upon him, and gave him a pair of very, very old boots. And he asked them, “Do ye know by which way I can get to the capital?” They told him, but it was a long, long journey that would take the whole day.
So he went the way they had told him, and he went on and on till he came to a little town, and there the roadside sentries stopped him. “Halt!” they cried. He halted. “Your passport!”[20]––“I have none.”––“What! no passport? Then thou art a vagabond. Seize him!” they cried. So they seized him and put him in a dungeon. Shortly after they came to examine him, and asked him, “Whence art thou?”––“From such and such a capital,” said he. Then they ordered him to be put in irons and taken thither.
So they took him back to that capital and put him in another dungeon. Then the custodians came round to examine the prisoners, and one said one thing and one said another, till at last it came to the turn of the Tsar.––“Who art thou, old man?” they asked. Then he told them the whole truth. “Once I was the Tsar,” said he, and he related all that had befallen him. Then they were much amazed, for he was not at all like a Tsar. For indeed he had been growing thin and haggard for a long time, and his beard was all long and tangled. And yet, for all that, he stood them out that he was the Tsar. So they made up their minds that he was crazy, and drove him away. “Why should we keep this fool for ever,” said they, “and waste the Tsar’s bread upon him?” So they let him go, and never did any man feel so wretched on God’s earth as did that wretched Tsar. Willingly would he have done any sort of work if he had only known how, but he had never been used to work, so he had to go along begging his bread, and could scarce beg enough to keep body and soul together. He lay at night at the first place that came to hand, sometimes in the tall grass of the steppes, sometimes beneath a fence. “That it should ever have come to this!” he sighed.
But the angel who had made himself Tsar went home with the huntsmen. And no man knew that he was not a Tsar, but an angel. The same evening that priest came to him and said, “Do thy will, O Tsar, and strike off my head, for I cannot blot out one word of Holy Scripture.”––And the Tsar said to him, “Glory be to God, for now I know that there is at least one priest in my tsardom who stands firm for God’s Word. I’ll make thee the highest bishop in this realm.” The priest thanked him, bowed down to the earth, and departed marvelling. “What is this wonder?” thought he, “that the haughty Tsar should have become so just and gentle.”––But all men marvelled at the change that had come over the Tsar. He was now so mild and gracious, nor did he spend all his days in the forest, but went about inquiring of his people if any were wronged or injured by their neighbours, and if justice were done. He took count of all, and rebuked the unjust judges, and saw that every man had his rights. And the people now rejoiced as much as they had grieved heretofore, and justice was done in all the tribunals, and no bribes were taken.
THE TSAR WENT ABOUT INQUIRING OF HIS PEOPLE IF ANY WERE WRONGED
But the Tsar, the real Tsar, grew more and more wretched. Then, after three years, a ukase went forth that on such and such a day all the people were to come together to a great banquet given by the Tsar, all were to be there, both rich and poor, both high and lowly. And all the people came, and the unhappy Tsar came too. And so many long tables were set out in the Tsar’s courtyard that all the people praised God when they saw the glad sight. And they all sat down at table and ate and drank, and the Tsar himself and his courtiers distributed the meat and drink to the guests as much as they would, but to the unfortunate Tsar they gave a double portion of everything. And they all ate and drank their fill, and then the Tsar began to inquire of the people whether any had suffered wrong or had not had justice done him. And when the people began to disperse, the Tsar stood at the gate with a bag of money, and gave to every one a grivna,[21] but to the unhappy Tsar he gave three.
And after three years the Tsar gave another banquet, and again entertained all the people. And when he had given them both to eat and to drink as much as they would, he inquired of them what was being done in his tsardom, and again gave a grivna to each one of them; but to the unlucky Tsar he gave a double portion of meat and drink and three grivni.
And again, after three years, he made yet another banquet, and proclaimed that all should come, both rich and poor, both earls and churls. And all the people came and ate and drank and bowed low before the Tsar and thanked him, and made ready to depart. The unlucky Tsar was also on the point of going, when the angel Tsar stopped him, and took him aside into the palace, and said to him, “Lo! God hath tried thee and chastised thy pride these ten years. But me He sent to teach thee that a Tsar must have regard to the complaints of his people. So thou wast made poor and a vagabond on the face of the earth that thou mightst pick up wisdom, if but a little. Look now, that thou doest good to thy people, and judgest righteous judgment, as from henceforth thou shalt be Tsar again, but I must fly back to God in heaven.”––And when he had said this he bade them wash and shave him (for his beard had grown right down to his girdle), and put upon him the raiment of a Tsar. And the angel said further, “Go now into the inner apartments. There the courtiers of the Tsar are sitting and making merry, and none will recognize in thee the vagabond old man. May God help thee always to do good!” And when the angel had said this he was no more to be seen, and only his clothes remained on the floor.
Then the Tsar prayed gratefully to God, and went to the merry-making of his courtiers, and henceforth he ruled his people justly, as the angel had bidden him.
There were once upon a time four brethren, and three of them remained at home, while the fourth went out to seek for work. This youngest brother came to a strange land, and hired himself out to a husbandman for three gold pieces a year. For three years he served his master faithfully, so, at the end of his time, he departed with nine gold pieces in his pocket. The first thing he now did was to go to a spring, and into this spring he threw three of his gold pieces. “Let us see now,” said he, “if I have been honest, they will come swimming back to me.” Then he lay down by the side of the spring and went fast asleep. How long he slept there, who can tell? but at any rate he woke up at last and went to the spring, but there was no sign of his money to be seen. Then he threw three more of the gold pieces into the spring, and again he lay down by the side of it and slept. Then he got up and went and looked into the spring, and still there was no sign of the money. So he threw in his three remaining gold pieces, and again lay down and slept. The third time he arose and looked into the spring, and there, sure enough, was his money: all nine of the gold pieces were floating on the surface of the water!
And now his heart felt lighter, and he gathered up the nine gold pieces and went on his way. On the road he fell in with three katsapi[22] with a laden wagon. He asked them concerning their wares, and they said they were carrying a load of incense. He begged them straightway to sell him this incense. Then they sold it to him for the gold pieces, and when he had bought it and they had departed, he kindled fire and burnt the incense, and offered it up to God as a sweet-smelling sacrifice. Then an angel flew down to him, and said, “Oh, thou that hast offered this sweet-smelling sacrifice to God, what dost thou want for thine own self? Dost thou want a tsardom, or great riches? Or, perchance, the desire of thy heart is a good wife? Speak, for God will give thee whatsoever thou desirest.” When the man had listened to the angel, he said to him, “Tarry a while! I will go and ask those people who are ploughing yonder.” Now those people who were ploughing there were his own brethren, but he did not know that they were his brethren. So he went up and said to the elder brother, “Tell me, uncle, what shall I ask of God? A tsardom, or great riches, or a good wife? Tell me, which of the three is the best gift to ask for?”––And his eldest brother said to him, “I know not, and who does know? Go and ask some one else.” So he went to the second brother, who was ploughing a little farther on. He asked him the same question, but the man only shrugged his shoulders and said he didn’t know either. Then he went to the third brother, who was the youngest of the three, and also ploughing there. And he asked him, saying, “Tell me, now, which is the best gift to ask of God: a tsardom, or great riches, or a good wife?”––And the third brother said, “What a question! Thou art too young for a tsardom, and great riches last but for a little while; ask God for a good wife, for if it please God to give thee a good wife, ’tis a gift that will bless thee all thy life long.” So he went back to the angel and asked for a good wife. Then he went on his way till he came to a certain wood, and, looking about him, he perceived that in this wood was a lake. And while he was looking at it, three wild doves came flying along and lit down upon this lake. They threw off their plumage and plunged into the water, and then he saw that they were not wild doves, but three fair ladies. They bathed in the lake, and in the meantime the youth crept up and took the raiment of one of them and hid it behind the bushes. When they came out of the water the third lady missed her clothes. Then the youth said to her, “I know where thy clothes are, but I will not give them to thee unless thou wilt be my wife.”––“Good!” cried she, “thy wife will I be.” Then she dressed herself, and they went together to the nearest village. When they got there, she said to him, “Now go to the nobleman who owns the land here, and beg him for a place where we may build us a hut.” So he went right up to the nobleman’s castle and entered his reception-room, and said, “Glory be to God!”––“For ever and ever!” replied the nobleman. “What dost thou want here, Ivan?”––“I have come, sir, to beg of thee a place where I may build me a hut.”––“A place for a hut, eh? Good, very good. Go home, and I’ll speak to my overseer, and he shall appoint thee a place.”––So he returned from the nobleman’s castle, and his wife said to him, “Go now into the forest and cut down an oak, a young oak, that thou canst span round with both arms.” So he cut down such an oak as his wife had told him of, and she built a hut of the oak, for the overseer had come and shown them a place where they might build their hut. But when the overseer returned home he praised loudly to his master the wife of this Ivan. “She is such and such,” said he. “Fair she may be,” replied the nobleman, “but she is another’s.”––“She need not be another’s for long,” replied the overseer. “This Ivan is in our hands; let us send him to see why it is the sun grows so red when he sets.”––“That’s just the same as if you sent him to a place whence he can never return.”––“All the better.”––Then they sent for Ivan, and gave him this errand, and he returned home to his wife, weeping bitterly. Then his wife asked him all about it, and said, “Well, I can tell thee all about the ways of the sun, for I am the sun’s own daughter. So now I’ll tell thee the whole matter. Go back to this nobleman and say to him that the reason why the sun turns so red as he sets is this: Just as the sun is going down into the sea, three fair ladies rise out of it, and it is the sight of them which makes him turn so red all over!” So he went back and told them. “Oh-ho!” cried they, “if you can go as far as that, you may now go a little farther”; so they told him to go to hell and see how it was there. “Yes,” said his wife, “I know the road that leads to hell also very well; but the nobleman must let his overseer go with thee, or else he never will believe that thou really didst go to hell.”––So the nobleman told his overseer that he must go to hell too, so they went together; and when they got there the rulers of hell laid hands upon the overseer straightway. “Thou dog!” roared they, “we’ve been looking out for thee for some time!” So Ivan returned without the overseer, and the nobleman said to him, “Where’s my overseer?”––“I left him in hell,” said Ivan, “and they said there that they were waiting for you, sir, too.” When the nobleman heard this he hanged himself, but Ivan lived happily with his wife.
THE RULERS OF HELL LAID HANDS UPON THE OVERSEER STRAIGHTWAY
There was once upon a time a cat and a cock, who agreed to live together, so they built them a hut on an ash-heap, and the cock kept house while the cat went foraging for sausages.
One day the fox came running up: “Open the door, little cock!” cried she.––“Pussy told me not to, little fox!” said the cock.––“Open the door, little cock!” repeated the fox.––“I tell you, pussy told me not to, little fox!”––At last, however, the cock grew tired of always saying “No!” so he opened the door, and in the fox rushed, seized him in her jaws, and ran off with him. Then the cock cried:
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“Help! pussy-pussy! |
The cat heard it, gave chase to the fox, rescued the cock, brought him home, scolded him well, and said, “Now keep out of her jaws in the future, if you don’t want to be killed altogether!”
Then the cat went out foraging for wheat, so that the cock might have something to eat. He had scarcely gone when the sly she-fox again came creeping up. “Dear little cock!” said she, “pray open the door!”––“Nay, little fox! Pussy said I wasn’t to.” But the fox went on asking and asking till at last the cock let him in. Then the fox rushed at him, seized him by the neck, and ran off with him. Then the cock cried out:
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“Help! pussy-pussy! |
The cat heard it, and again he ran after the fox and rescued the cock, and gave the fox a sound drubbing. Then he said to the cock, “Now, mind you never let her come in again, or she’ll eat you.”
But the next time the cat went out, the she-fox came again, and said, “Dear little cock, open the door!”––“No, little fox! Pussy said I wasn’t to.” But the fox begged and begged so piteously that, at last, the cock was quite touched, and opened the door. Then the fox caught him by the throat again, and ran away with him, and the cock cried:
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“Help! pussy-pussy! |
The cat heard it, and gave chase again. He ran and ran, but this time he couldn’t catch the fox up; so he returned home and wept bitterly, because he was now all alone. At last, however, he dried his tears and got him a little fiddle, a little fiddle-bow, and a big sack, and went to the fox’s hole and began to play:
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“Fiddle-de-dee! |
Then the fox’s daughter said, “Mammy, I’ll go out and see who it is that is playing so nicely!” So out she skipped, but no sooner did pussy see her than he caught hold of her and popped her into his sack. Then he played again:
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“Fiddle-de-dee! |
Then the second daughter skipped out, and pussy caught her by the forehead, and popped her into his sack, and went on playing and singing till he had got all four daughters into his sack, and the little son also.
Then the old fox was left all alone, and she waited and waited, but not one of them came back. At last she said to herself, “I’ll go out and call them home, for the cock is roasting, and the milk pottage is simmering, and ’tis high time we had something to eat.” So out she popped, and the cat pounced upon her, and killed her too. Then he went and drank up all the soup, and gobbled up all the pottage, and then he saw the cock lying on a plate. “Come, shake yourself, cock!” said puss. So the cock shook himself, and got up, and the cat took the cock home, and the dead foxes too. And when they got home they skinned them to make nice beds to lie upon, and lived happily together in peace and plenty. And as they laughed over the joke as a good joke, we may laugh over it too!
There was once a Tsaritsa who had no child, and greatly desired one, so the soothsayers said to her, “Bid them catch thee a pike, bid them boil its head and nothing but its head, eat it, and thou shalt see what will happen.” So she did so. She ate the pike’s head and went about as usual for a whole year, and when the year was out she gave birth to a son who was a serpent.
And no sooner was he born than he looked about him, and said, “Mammy and daddy! Bid them make me a stone hut, and let there be a little bed there, and a little stove and a fire to warm me, and let me be married in a fortnight!”––So they did as he desired. They shut him up in a stone hut, with a little bed and a little stove and fire to warm him, and in a fortnight he grew quite big, indeed he grew too big for his little bed. “And now,” said he, “I want to be married!” So they brought to him all the fair young damsels of the land that he might choose one to be his own true bride. Exceeding fair were all the damsels they brought him, and yet he would choose none of them. Now there was an old woman there, who had twelve daughters, and eleven of these daughters they brought to the Serpent-Tsarevich, but not the twelfth. “She is too young!” said they.––Then the youngest daughter said, “Ye fools, not to take me too! Why, if I were brought to the Serpent-Tsarevich, he would make me his bride at once.”
Now this came to the Tsar’s ears, and he commanded them to bring her to him straightway. And the Tsar said to her, “Wilt thou be my son’s bride or not?”––And she said, “I will; but before I go to thy son, give me at once a score of chemises, and a score of linen kirtles, and a score of woollen kirtles, and twenty pairs of shoes––twenty of each, I say.”––So the Tsar gave them to her, and she put on the twenty chemises, the twenty linen kirtles, the twenty woollen kirtles, and the twenty pairs of shoes, one after the other, and went to see the Serpent-Tsarevich. When she came to the threshold of his hut, she stopped and said, “Hail, O Serpent-Tsarevich!”––“Hail, maiden!” cried he. “Wilt thou be my bride?”––“I will!”––“Then take off one of thy skins!” cried he.––“Yes,” she said, “but thou must do the same.”––So he cast off one of his skins, and she cast off one of her twenty suits of clothes. Then he cried out again, “Cast off another of thy skins, maiden.”––“Yes,” she replied, “but thou must cast off one too!”––So he did so. Nineteen times did he cast off one of his serpent’s skins, and nineteen times did she cast off one of her suits of clothes, till at last she had only her every-day suit left, and he had only his human skin left. Then he threw off his last skin also, and it flew about in the air like a gossamer, whereupon she seized hold of it and threw it into the fire that was burning on the hearth till it was all consumed, and he stood before her no longer a serpent, but a simple Tsarevich. Then they married and lived happily together, but the husband never would go to visit his old father the Tsar, nor would he allow his bride to go near the palace.
NINETEEN TIMES DID SHE CAST OFF ONE OF HER SUITS OF CLOTHES
The old Tsar sent for him again and again, but his son would never go. At last the wife was ashamed, and said to her husband one day, “Dear heart! let me go to thy father! I will only go for my own pastime, lest he get angry. Why should I not go?” Then he let her go, and she went to the court of the old Tsar, and took her pastime there. She amused herself finely, and ate and drank her fill of all good things. Now her husband had laid this command upon her, “Go and divert thyself if thou wilt, but if thou tell my father and my mother what has happened to me, and how I have lost my twenty serpent skins, thou shalt never see me more.” For they did not know that he was now no longer a serpent, but a simple Tsarevich. She vowed she would never tell; but for all her promises, she nevertheless told them at last how her husband had lost his twenty serpent skins. Then she enjoyed herself to her heart’s content, but when she returned home she found no trace of her husband––he had departed to another kingdom in the uttermost parts of the world.
Then the poor bride sat her down and wept and wept, and when she had no more tears to weep, she went forth into the wide world to seek her husband. She went on till she came to a lonely little house, and she went and begged a night’s lodging from the old woman who dwelt there, who was the Mother of the Winds. But the Mother of the Winds would not let her in. “God preserve thee, child!” said she. “My son is already winging his way hither. In another moment thou wilt hear the rustling of his wings, in another moment he will slay thee, and scatter thy bones to the four winds.” But the bride besought the old woman till she had her desire, and the old woman hid her behind a huge chest. A moment afterward the son of the Mother of the Winds came flying up, and he smelt out the bride, and said, “What’s this, mother? There is an evil smell of Cossack bones about the house!”––“No, it is not that,” said his mother, “but a young woman has taken shelter here, who says that she is going in search of her husband.”––“Then, mother, give her the little silver apple, and let her go, for her husband is in another kingdom.” So they sent her away with the little silver apple.
She went on and on till night descended upon her, and she came to the lonely abode of another old woman, and begged a night’s lodging of her also. But the old woman would not let her in. “My son will be here presently,” said she, “and he will slay thee.”––“Nay, but, granny,” said the bride, “I’ve already stayed the night with such as thou, for I have lodged at the house of the Mother of the Winds.”––Then the old woman took her in, and hid her, for she was the Mother of the Moon. And immediately afterward the Moon came flying up. “What is this, little mother?” cried he. “I smell an evil smell of Cossack bones!”––But she said to him, “Nay, my dear little son, but a young woman has come hither who is obliged to search for her husband because she told his father and mother the truth.” Then the Moon said, “’Twould be as well to let her go on farther. Give her the little golden apple, and let her be off as quickly as possible, for her husband is about to marry another wife.” So she passed the night there, and in the morning they sent her away with the little golden apple.
She went on and on. Night again descended upon her, and she came to the house of the Mother of the Sun, and begged her for a night’s lodging. But the old woman said to her, “I cannot let thee in. My son is flying about the world, but he will fly hither presently, and if he find thee here he will slay thee!”––Then the bride said, “Nay, but, granny dear, I have already lodged with the like of thee. I have lodged with the Mother of the Winds, and the Mother of the Moon, and they each gave me a little apple.” Then the Mother of the Sun also let her in. Immediately afterward her son, the Sun, came flying up, and he said, “Why, what is this, little mother? I smell an evil smell of Cossack bones!”––But his mother answered, “A young woman came hither who begged for a night’s lodging.” She did not tell her son the whole truth, that the bride was in search of her husband, but he knew it already, and said, “Her husband is about to marry another wife. Let her go to the land where now he is, and give her the diamond apple, which is the best and most precious apple in the whole world, and tell her to hasten on to the house where her husband abides. They won’t let her in there, but she must disguise herself as an old woman, and sit down outside in the courtyard, and spread out a cloth and lay upon it her little silver apple, and all the people will come flocking around to see the old woman who is selling apples of silver.” So the bride did as the Sun bade her, and went to that distant empire, and the Empress of that empire, whom her husband had married, came to see what she was selling, and said to her, “What dost thou want for thy silver apple?” And she answered, “No money do I want for it. Oh, sovereign lady, all that I require in exchange therefor is that I may pass the night near my husband.”––Then the Empress took the apple, and allowed her to come into the bedchamber of the Tsarevich to pass the night there; but first of all she gave the Tsarevich a sleeping draught so that he knew nothing, and could speak not a word to her, nor could he even recognize what manner of person his true wife was. Then only did the Empress let her come into the room where her husband lay. And she watched over him, she watched over him the live-long night, and with the dawn she departed.
The next morning he awoke out of his drugged sleep, and said to himself, “Why, what is this? It is just as if my first wife has been weeping over me here, and wetted me with her tears!” But he told nobody what he thought, nor did he say a word about it to his second wife. “Wait a bit!” thought he, “to-morrow night I’ll not go to sleep. I’ll watch and watch till I watch the thing out.”
The next day the faithful wife spread out her little cloth again, and laid upon it her golden apple. The Empress again came that way, went up to her, and said, “Sell me that apple of thine, and I’ll give thee for it as many pence as thou canst hold in thy lap!”––But she replied, “Nay, my sovereign lady! money for it I will not take, but let me pass one more night in my own husband’s room!”––And the Empress took the apple, and let her go there. But first the Empress caressed and kissed her husband into a good humour, and then she gave him another sleeping draught. And the faithful wife came again, and watched and wept over him and wetted him with her tears, and with the dawn she departed.
And now she had only one apple left, but that was the diamond apple, the most precious apple in the world. And she said to the Empress, “Let me watch by him for this apple but one night more, and I’ll never ask again!” And she let her. Now this night also her husband was asleep. And his first wife came and immediately began to kiss him on the head, but he said nothing. Then she kissed him again, and at last he awoke and started up, and said, “Who’s that?”––“It is I, thy first wife.”––“How hast thou found thy way hither?”––“Oh, I have been here and there and everywhere. I have lodged with the Mother of the Winds, and the Mother of the Moon, and the Mother of the Sun, and they gave me three apples, and I gave these apples to thy Empress-wife, and she let me watch over thee, and this is the third night that I have watched by thy side.”
Then he came to his right mind, and cried aloud that they should bring in lights, and he saw that his faithful wife was quite an old woman. Then he bethought him, and said, “Was ever the like of this known? My first and faithful wife goes a-seeking her husband throughout the wide world, while my accursed second wife, Empress though she be, sells her husband for three apples!”
Then he bade them give his faithful wife rich garments as much as she would, and she stripped off her disguise, and washed her face and grew young again. But the faithless wife was tied to the tails of four wild horses, and they tore her to pieces in the endless steppe.
Once upon a time a rich man and a poor man had a field in common, and they sowed it with the same seed at the same time. But God prospered the poor man’s labour and made his seed to grow, but the rich man’s seed did not grow. Then the rich man claimed that part of the field where the grain had sprung up, and said to the poor man, “Look now! ’tis my seed that has prospered, and not thine!” The poor man protested, but the rich man would not listen, but said to him, “If thou wilt not believe me, then, poor man, come into the field quite early to-morrow morning, before dawn, and God shall judge betwixt us.”
Then the poor man went home. But the rich man dug a deep trench in the poor man’s part of the field and placed his son in it, and said to him, “Look now, my son; when I come hither to-morrow morning and ask whose field this is, say that it is not the poor man’s, but the rich man’s.”
Then he well covered up his son with straw, and departed to his own house.
In the morning all the people assembled together and went to the field, and the rich man cried, “Speak, O God! whose field is this, the rich man’s or the poor man’s?”
“The rich man’s, the rich man’s,” cried a voice from the midst of the field.
But the Lord Himself was among the people gathered together there, and He said, “Listen not to that voice, for the field is verily the poor man’s.”
Then the Lord told all the people how the matter went, and then He said to the son of the rich man,
“Stay where thou art, and sit beneath the earth all thy days, so long as the sun is in the sky.”
So the rich man’s son became a mole on the spot, and that is why the mole always flies the light of day.
There was once upon a time a King who had two sons, and these sons went a-hunting in the forest and there lost themselves. They wandered on and on for twelve weeks, and at the end of the twelve weeks they came to a place where three roads met, and the elder brother said to the younger, “My brother, here our roads part. Take thou the road on that side, and I’ll take the road on this.” Then the elder brother took a knife and stuck it into the trunk of a maple-tree by the roadside, and said, “Look now, brother, should any blood drip from the blade of this knife it will be a sign that I am perishing, and thou must go and seek me; but if any blood flow from the handle, it will be a sign that thou art perishing, and I will then go and seek thee.” Then the brothers embraced each other and parted, and one went in one direction and the other went in the other.
The elder brother went on and on and on till he came to a mountain so high that there cannot be a higher, and he began climbing it with his dog and his stick. He went on till he came to an apple-tree, and beneath the apple-tree a fire was burning, and he stopped to warm himself, when an old woman came up and said to him, “Dear little gentleman! dear little gentleman! tie up that dog lest he bite me.” So he took the dog and tied it up, and immediately he was turned to stone, and the dog too, for the old woman was a pagan witch.
Time passed, and the younger brother came back to the maple-tree by the cross-roads and saw that blood was dripping from the blade of the knife. Then he knew that his brother was perishing, and he went in search of him, and came at last to the high mountain that was higher than all others, and on the top of this mountain there was a little courtyard, and in the courtyard an old woman, who said to him, “Little Prince, what brings thee hither, and what dost thou seek?”––“I seek my brother,” said he; “a whole year has passed since I heard of him, and I know not whether he be alive or dead.”––Then she said to him, “I can tell thee that he is dead, and it is of no use seeking for him, though thou goest the wide world over. But go up that mountain, and thou wilt come to two other mountains opposite to each other, and there thou wilt find an old man, who will put thee on thy way.” So he went up the high mountain till he came to two other mountains that were opposite each other, and there he saw two old men sitting, and they asked him straightway, “Little Prince! little Prince! whither dost thou go, and what dost thou seek?”––“I am going in search of my brother,” said he, “my dear elder brother who is perishing, and I can find him nowhere.”––Then one of the old men said to him, “If thou canst scale those two mountains yonder without falling, I’ll give thee all that thou dost want.” Then he scaled the two mountains as nimbly as a goat, and the old man gave him a bast rope, three fathoms long, and bade him return to the mountain where was the fire and the old woman who had asked him to stay and warm himself, and bind this old woman with the cord and beat her till she promised to bring his brother back to life again, and not only his brother but a Tsar and a Tsaritsa[23] and a Tsarivna, who were also turned to stone there. “Beat her till she has brought them all to life again,” said they. So he took the cord and went back to where the fire was burning. An apple-tree was there, and beneath the apple-tree was the fire, and the old witch came out to him and said, “Little master! little master! let me come and warm myself.”––“Come along, little mother!” cried he; “come and warm thyself and make thyself comfortable.” Then she came out, but no sooner had she done so, than he threw the cord around her and began flogging her. “Say,” cried he, “what hast thou done with my brother?”––“Oh, dear little master! dear little master! let me go, let me go! I’ll tell thee this instant where thy brother is.” But he wouldn’t listen, but beat her and beat her, and held her naked feet over the fire, and toasted and roasted her till she shrivelled right up. Then he let her go, and she went with him to a cave that was on that mountain, and drew from the depths of it some healing and life-giving water, and brought his brother back to life again, but it was as much as she could do, for she was half dead herself. Then his brother said to him, “Oh, my dear brother, how heavily I must have been sleeping! But thou must revive my faithful dog too!” Then she revived the faithful dog, and she also revived the Tsar and the Tsaritsa and the Tsarivna, who had been turned to stone there. Then they left that place and when they had gone a little distance, the elder brother bowed to the ground and went on his way alone.
He went on and on till he came to a city where all the people were weeping and all the houses were hung with black cloth. And he said to them, “Why do ye weep, and why are all your houses hung with black?”––And they answered, “Because there’s a Dragon here who eats the people, and it has come to such a pass with us that to-morrow we must give him our Princess for dinner.”––“Nay, but ye shall not do this thing,” said he, and, with that, he set out for the cavern where the Dragon lived, and tethered his horse there and slept by the side of the cavern all night. And the next day, sure enough, the Princess was brought to the mouth of the cavern. She came driving thither in a carriage and four and with a heyduck[24] in attendance. But when the Prince saw her, he came forth to meet her and led her aside and gave her a prayer-book in her hand, and said to her, “Stay here, Princess, and pray to God for me.” Then she fell down on her knees and began to pray, and the Dragon popped one of his heads out of the cavern and said, “It is time I had my dinner now, and there’s not so much as a breakfast here!” But the Prince also fell down on his knees and read out of his prayer-book and prayed to God, and said to the Dragon, “Come forth! come forth! and I’ll give thee breakfast and dinner at the same time!” Then the Dragon darted back again, but when he had waited till midday and still there was neither breakfast nor dinner for him, he popped two of his heads out and cried, “It is high time I had my dinner, and still there is neither breakfast nor dinner for me!”––“Come forth, and I’ll give thee both at once!” cried the Prince. Then the Dragon wouldn’t wait any longer, but stuck out all his six heads and began to wriggle out of the cavern; but the Prince attacked him with his huge broadsword, a full fathom long, which the Lord had given him, and chopped off all the Dragon’s six heads, and the rock fell upon the Dragon’s body and crushed it to pieces. Then the Prince gathered up the six dragon-heads and laid them on one side, and cut out the six lolling tongues and tied them in his handkerchief, and told the Princess to go back to her palace, for they could not be married for a year and twelve weeks, and if by that time he did not appear, she was to marry another, and with that he departed. Then the coachman of the Princess came up to the place and saw the six heads of the Dragon, and took them up and said to the Princess, “I will slay thee on the spot if thou dost not swear to me twelve times that thou wilt say I slew the Dragon, and wilt take me for thy husband!” Then she swore to it twelve times, for else he would have slain her. So they returned together to the town, and immediately all the black cloth was taken off the houses and the bells fell a-ringing, and all the people rejoiced because the coachman had killed the Dragon. “Let them be married at once!” cried they.
Meanwhile the King’s son went on and on till he came to that town where he had left his brother, and there he found that the Tsar and the Tsaritsa had given his brother the whole tsardom and the Tsarivna to wife as well, and there he tarried for a time; but toward the end of a year and twelve weeks he went back to the other city where he had left the Princess, and there he found them making ready for a grand wedding. “What is the meaning of all this?” asked he. And they answered, “The Tsar’s coachman has slain the Dragon with six heads and saved the Princess, and now he is to be married to her.”––“Good Lord!” cried he, “and I never saw this Dragon! What manner of beast was it?”––Then they took him and showed him the heads of the Dragon, and he cried, “Good Lord! every other beast hath a tongue, but this Dragon hath none!” Then they told this to the coachman, who had been made a Prince, and the coachman was very angry and said, “Whoever maintains that a Dragon has tongues, him will I order to be tied to four wild horses, and they shall tear him to pieces on the open steppe!” The Princess, however, recognized the King’s son, but she held her peace. Then the King’s son took out his handkerchief, unrolled it, showed them the six tongues, and put each one into one of the six mouths of the Dragon’s six heads, and each of the tongues began to speak and bid the Princess say how the matter went. Then the Princess told how she had knelt down and prayed out of the prayer-book while the King’s son slew the Dragon, and how the wicked coachman had made her swear twelve times to that which was false. When the Tsar heard this, he immediately gave the Princess his daughter to the King’s son, and they asked him what death the wicked coachman should die. And he answered, “Let him be tied to the tails of four wild horses, and drive them into the endless steppe that they may tear him to pieces there, and the ravens and crows may come and pick his bones.”
Once upon a time there was an old man. He lived to a great age, and God gave him children whom he brought up to man’s estate, and he divided all his goods amongst them. “I will pass my remaining days among my children,” thought he.
So the old man went to live with his eldest son, and at first the eldest son treated him properly, and did reverence to his old father. “’Tis but meet and right that we should give our father to eat and drink, and see that he has wherewithal to clothe him, and take care to patch up his things from time to time, and let him have clean new shirts on festivals,” said the eldest son. So they did so, and at festivals also the old father had his own glass beside him. Thus the eldest son was a good son to his old father. But when the eldest son had been keeping his father for some time he began to regret his hospitality, and was rough to his father, and sometimes even shouted at him. The old man no longer had his own set place in the house as heretofore, and there was none to cut up his food for him. So the eldest son repented him that he had said he would keep his father, and he began to grudge him every morsel of bread that he put in his mouth. The old man had nothing for it but to go to his second son. It might be better for him there or worse, but stay with his eldest son any longer he could not. So the father went to his second son. But here the old man soon discovered that he had only exchanged wheat for straw. Whenever he began to eat, his second son and his daughter-in-law looked sour and murmured something between their teeth. The woman scolded the old man. “We had as much as we could do before to make both ends meet,” cried she, “and now we have old men to keep into the bargain.” The old man soon had enough of it there also, and went on to his next son. So one after another all four sons took their father to live with them, and he was glad to leave them all. Each of the four sons, one after the other, cast the burden of supporting him on one of the other brothers. “It is for him to keep thee, daddy!” said they; and then the other would say, “Nay, dad, but it is as much as we can do to keep ourselves.” Thus between his four sons he knew not what to do. There was quite a battle among them as to which of them should not keep their old father. One had one good excuse and another had another, and so none of them would keep him. This one had a lot of little children, and that one had a scold for a wife, and this house was too small, and that house was too poor. “Go where thou wilt, old man,” said they, “only don’t come to us.” And the old man, grey, grey, grey as a dove was he, wept before his sons, and knew not whither to turn. What could he do? Entreaty was in vain. Not one of the sons would take the old man in, and yet he had to be put somewhere. Then the old man strove with them no more, but let them do with him even as they would.
So all four sons met and took counsel. Time after time they laid their heads together, and at last they agreed among themselves that the best thing the old man could do was to go to school. “There will be a bench for him to sit upon there,” said they; “and he can take something to eat in his knapsack.” Then they told the old man about it; but the old man did not want to go to school. He begged his children not to send him there, and wept before them. “Now that I cannot see the white world,” said he, “how can I see a black book? Moreover, from my youth upward I have never learnt my letters; how shall I begin to do so now? A clerk cannot be fashioned out of an old man on the point of death!” But there was no use talking, his children said he must go to school, and the voices of his children prevailed against his feeble old voice. So to school he had to go. Now there was no church in that village, so he had to go to the village beyond it to school. A forest lay along the road, and in this forest the old man met a nobleman driving along. When the old man came near to the nobleman’s carriage, he stepped out of the road to let it pass, took off his hat respectfully, and then would have gone on farther. But he heard some one calling, and, looking back, saw the nobleman beckoning to him; he wanted to ask him something. The nobleman then got out of his carriage and asked the old man whither he was going. The old man took off his hat to the nobleman and told him all his misery, and the tears ran down the old man’s cheeks. “Woe is me, gracious sir! If the Lord had left me without kith and kin, I should not complain; but strange indeed is the woe that has befallen me! I have four sons, thank God, and all four have houses of their own, and yet they send their poor old father to school to learn! Was ever the like of it known before?” So the old man told the nobleman his whole story, and the nobleman was full of compassion for the old man. “Well, old man,” said he, “’tis no use for thee to go to school, that’s plain. Return home. I’ll tell thee what to do so that thy children shall never send thee to school again. Fear not, old man, weep no more, and let not thy soul be troubled! God shall bless thee, and all will be well. I know well what ought to be done here.” So the nobleman comforted the old man, and the old man began to be merry. Then the nobleman took out his purse, it was a real nobleman’s purse, with a little sack in the middle of it to hold small change. Lord! what a lovely thing it was! The more he looked at it, the more the old man marvelled at it. The nobleman took this purse and began filling it full with something. When he had well filled it, he gave it to the old man. “Take this and go home to thy children,” said he, “and when thou hast got home, call together all thy four sons and say to them, ‘My dear children, long long ago, when I was younger than I am now, and knocked about in the world a bit, I made a little money. “I won’t spend it,” I said to myself, “for one never knows what may happen.” So I went into a forest, my children, and dug a hole beneath an oak, and there I hid my little store of money. I did not bother much about the money afterward, because I had such good children; but when you sent me to school I came to this self-same oak, and I said to myself, “I wonder if these few silver pieces have been waiting for their master all this time! Let us dig and see.” So I dug and found them, and have brought them home to you, my children. I shall keep them till I die; but after my death consult together, and whosoever shall be found to have cherished me most and taken care of me and not grudged me a clean shirt now and then, or a crust of bread when I’m hungry, to him shall be given the greater part of my money. So now, my dear children, receive me back again, and my thanks shall be yours. You can manage it amongst you, and surely ’tis not right that I should seek a home among strangers! Which of you will be kind to your old father––for money?’”
So the old man returned to his children with the purse in a casket, and when he came to the village with the casket under his arm, one could see at once that he had been in a good forest.[25] When one comes home with a heavy casket under one’s arm, depend upon it there’s something in it! So, no sooner did the old man appear than his eldest daughter-in-law came running out to meet him, and bade him welcome in God’s name. “Things don’t seem to get on at all without thee, dad!” cried she, “and the house is quite dreary. Come in and rest, dad,” she went on; “thou hast gone a long way and must be weary.” Then all the brothers came together, and the old man told them what God had done for him. All their faces brightened as they looked at the casket, and they thought to themselves, “If we keep him we shall have the money.” Then the four brothers could not make too much of their dear old father. They took care of him and the old man was happy, but he took heed to the counsel of the nobleman, and never let the casket out of his hand. “After my death you shall have everything, but I won’t give it you now, for who knows what may happen? I have seen already how you treated your old father when he had nothing. It shall all be yours, I say, only wait; and when I die, take it and divide it as I have said.” So the brothers tended their father, and the old man lived in clover, and was somebody. He had his own way and did nothing.
So the old man was no longer ill-treated by his children, but lived among them like an emperor in his own empire, but no sooner did he die than his children made what haste they could to lay hands upon the casket. All the people were called together and bore witness that they had treated their father well since he came back to them, so it was adjudged that they should divide the treasure amongst them. But first they took the old man’s body to church and the casket along with it. They buried him as God commands. They made a rich banquet of funeral meats that all might know how much they mourned the old man; it was a splendid funeral. When the priest got up from the table, the people all began to thank their hosts, and the eldest son begged the priest to say the sorokoust[26] in the church for the repose of the dead man’s soul. “Such a dear old fellow as he was!” said he; “was there ever any one like him? Take this money for the sorokoust, reverend father!” so horribly grieved was that eldest son. So the eldest son gave the priest money, and the second son gave him the like. Nay, each one gave him money for an extra half sorokoust, all four gave him requiem money. “We’ll have prayers in church for our father though we sell our last sheep to pay for them,” cried they. Then, when all was over, they hastened as fast as they could to the money. The coffer was brought forth. They shook it. There was a fine rattling inside it. Every one of them felt and handled the coffer. That was something like a treasure! Then they unsealed it and opened it and scattered the contents––and it was full of nothing but glass! They wouldn’t believe their eyes. They rummaged among the glass, but there was no money. It was horrible! Surely it could not be that their father had dug up a coffer from beneath an oak of the forest and it was full of nothing but glass! “Why!” cried the brothers, “our father has left us nothing but glass!” But for the crowds of people there, the brothers would have fallen upon and beaten each other in their wrath. So the children of the old man saw that their father had made fools of them. Then all the people mocked them: “You see what you have gained by sending your father to school! You see he learned something at school after all! He was a long time before he began learning, but better late than never. It appears to us ’twas a right good school you sent him to. No doubt they whipped him into learning so much. Never mind, you can keep the money and the casket!” Then the brothers were full of lamentation and rage. But what could they do? Their father was already dead and buried.
There was once upon a time a man who had three sons, and two were clever, but the third, called Ivan, was a fool. Their father divided all his goods among them and died, and the three brothers went out into the world to seek their fortunes. Now the two wise brothers left all their goods at home, but Ivan the fool, who had only inherited a large millstone, took it along with him. They went on and on and on till it began to grow dark, when they came to a large forest. Then the wise brothers said, “Let us climb up to the top of this oak and pass the night there, and then robbers will not fall upon us.”––“But what will this silly donkey do with his millstone?” asked one of them.––“You look to yourselves,” said Ivan, “for I mean to pass the night in this tree also.” Then the wise brothers climbed to the very tip-top of the tree and there sat down, and then Ivan dragged himself up too, and the millstone after him. He tried to get up as high as his brothers, but the thin boughs broke beneath him, so he had to be content with staying in the lower part of the tree on the thicker boughs; so there he sat, hugging the millstone in his arms. Presently some robbers came along that way, red-handed from their work, and they too prepared to pass the night under the tree. So they cut them down firewood, and made them a roaring fire beneath a huge cauldron, and in this cauldron they began to boil their supper. They boiled and boiled till their mess of pottage was ready, and then they all sat down round the cauldron and took out their large ladles, and were just about to fall to––in fact they were blowing their food because it was so boiling hot––when Ivan let his big millstone plump down into the middle of the cauldron, so that the pottage flew right into their eyes. The robbers were so terrified that they all sprang to their feet straightway and scampered off through the forest, forgetting all the booty of which they had robbed the merchantmen. Then Ivan came down from the oak and cried to his brothers, “You come down here and divide the spoil!” So the wise brothers came down, put all the merchandise on the backs of the robbers’ horses, and went home with it; but the only thing that Ivan was able to secure for himself was a bag of incense. This he immediately took to the nearest churchyard, placed it on the top of a tomb, and began to pound away at it with his millstone. Suddenly St Peter appeared to him and said, “What art thou doing, good man?”––“I am pounding up this incense to make bread of it.”––“Nay, good man, I will advise thee better: give me the incense and take from me whatever thou wilt.”––“Very well, St Peter,” said the fool; “thou must give me a little fife, but a fife of such a sort that whenever I play upon it, every one will be obliged to dance.”––“But dost thou know how to play upon a fife?”––“No, but I can soon learn.” Then St Peter drew forth a little fife from his bosom and gave it to him, and took away the incense, and who can say where he went with it? But Ivan stood up and gazed at the sky and said, “Look now! if St Peter hath not already burnt my incense and made of it that large white cloud that is sailing above my head!” Then he took up his fife and began to play, and the moment he began to play, everything around him began to dance; the wolves, and the hares, and the foxes, and the bears, nay, the very birds lit down upon the ground and began to dance, and Ivan went on laughing and playing all the time. Even the savage, surly bears danced and danced till their legs tottered beneath them. Then they clutched tight hold of the trees to stop themselves from dancing; but it was of no use, dance they must. At last Ivan himself was tired, and lay down to rest, and when he had rested a little, he got up again and went on into the town. There all the people were in the bazaars, buying and selling. Some were buying pancakes, others baskets of bright-coloured eggs, others again pitchers of kvas. Ivan began playing on his fife, and forthwith they all fell a-dancing. One man who had a whole basket of eggs on his head danced them into bits, and danced and danced till he looked like the yolk of an egg himself. Those who were asleep got up and gave themselves up to dancing straightway; there were some who danced without trousers, and some who danced without smocks or shirts, and there were some who danced with nothing on at all, for dance they must when Ivan began a-playing. The whole town was turned upside down: the dogs, the swine, the cocks and hens, everything that had life came out and danced. At last Ivan was tired, so he left off playing and went into the town to seek service. The parson there took a fancy to him, and said to him, “Good man! wilt enter my service?”––“That will I, gladly,” said Ivan.––“How much wages dost thou want by the year then?”––“It won’t come dear; five karbovantsya[27] are all I ask.”––“Good, I agree,” said the parson. So he engaged Ivan as his servant, and the next day he sent him out into the fields to tend his cattle. Ivan drove the cattle into the pastures, but he himself perched on the top of a haystack while the cattle grazed. He sat there, and sat and sat till he grew quite dull, and then he said to himself, “I’ll play a bit on my fife, I haven’t played for a long time.” So he began to play, and immediately all the cattle fell a-dancing; and not only the cattle, but all the foxes, and the hares, and the wolves, and everything in the hedges and ditches fell a-dancing too. They danced and danced till the poor cattle were clean worn out and at the last gasp. In the evening Ivan drove them home, but they were so famished that they tugged at the dirty straw roofs of the huts they passed, and so got a chance mouthful or two. But Ivan went in and had supper and a comfortable night’s rest afterward. The next day he again drove the cattle into the pastures. They began grazing till he took out his fife again, when they all fell a-dancing like mad. He played on and on till evening, when he drove the cattle home again, and they were all as hungry as could be, and wearied to death from dancing.